


Cahoots

by sunbreaksdown



Series: miles to go [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: AU, F/F, Humanstuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-31
Updated: 2012-05-31
Packaged: 2017-11-06 10:40:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/417932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunbreaksdown/pseuds/sunbreaksdown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vriska wants pancakes, because Kanaya's all out of bacon. Or waffles. Or maybe both, because she's <i>reeeeeeeeally</i> goddamn hungry, Kanaya, you have no idea! Kanaya assures her that she does have some idea, as she's rather famished herself, and gets to work on a stack of pancakes, deciding that she might as well put that chocolate sauce she bought months ago to good use in Vriska's hands. After a moment, she feels compelled to point out that she doesn't usually cook in nothing more than her underwear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cahoots

**Author's Note:**

> My writing process on this one wasn't much more complicated than wanting to write something quick and fluffy for these two. Please enjoy it for what it is!

     Vriska stirs before she does, and by the time Kanaya's eyes have adjusted to the sunset-orange light that bleeds in through the curtains, Vriska is sat upright, stretching one arm and then the other above her head. She's killing time, stalling. Though Kanaya doesn't think it would be a complete lie to say that Vriska's muscles _are_ sore, as her own now are. Kanaya watches, eyes tracing the ridges of Vriska's shoulder blades, the rise of her spine and the shape of her ribs, and considers doing the same with her fingertips.

     But she doesn't want to startle Vriska. Kanaya doesn't think that Vriska's about to bolt; she's just undecided on whether or not Kanaya _expects_ her to bundle her clothing up in her arms and leave, just like that, welcome already worn thin. _Not_ , Kanaya thinks, and realises she's already smiling. She must've woken up like that. _Definitely not._

     “Good morning,” Kanaya says, and Vriska's shoulders hunch up, almost touching her ears. They don't relax until Kanaya runs a hand down her back, fingertips pressing against each ledge of her spine. 

     Vriska glances over her shoulder, and says “What's so good about it?”, even though she's grinning. Her hair is a mess, messier than Kanaya's ever known it to be, and the lack of glasses make her eyes seem foggy. She's blinking a lot. But none of that matters when Vriska takes a deep breath and convinces herself that this isn't the part where she makes her excuses and leaves, far from it, and falls back down next to Kanaya.

     Kanaya wraps her arms around Vriska's waist, forearms crossing her hips, fingertips pressing to the small of her back. The smile plastered across her face must look ridiculous, but she can't bring herself to care; what's more, Vriska probably can't even make it out, with her forehead pressed right up against hers. She thinks to say something more, but today's _Good morning_ has already been used up, and Vriska has other ideas.

     Vriska kisses her, open-mouthed, slow and lazy, making little stretching-sounds against her lips, _mmph_ s and _mm_ s, as her feet poke out from beneath the covers, toes curling and pointing towards the door. Kanaya laughs, because Vriska's plastered against her, and she can't help but imagine her falling asleep mid-kiss, and being perfectly content like that. In retaliation, Vriska smushes her nose to Kanaya's cheek, and Kanaya closes her eyes, trying to suppress any giggles that come with Vriska kissing her way along the line of her jaw, all across her cheek.

     “Can it, Maryam,” Vriska says, mustering up enough energy to hook one leg over Kanaya's hips, slowly rolling atop her. Kanaya's hands idly wander up Vriska's back, but she's not having any of it; she rolls her shoulders, bats Kanaya's hands away, making a grab at her wrists. Kanaya lifts one brow, barely manages to keep a straight face, and Vriska's glowering down at her is less effective when her messy blonde hair keeps obstructing her vision.

     She tries blowing her hair out of her eyes, and when her huffing and puffing gets her nowhere, keeps releasing Kanaya's wrists, one after another, to tuck it behind her ears. She does so very quickly, as if Kanaya's not going to realise her freedom's right there in front of her if she doesn't take too long, and Kanaya lies there patiently, waiting for Vriska's hair to frustrate her more than the effort of pinning her down is worth. 

     Vriska finally admits defeat with a roll of her eyes, and with the freedom of movement now afforded to her, Kanaya reaches up, tucking Vriska's hair back and holding it in place as she pulls her down for a proper kiss.

     (The first time she meets Vriska Serket, Kanaya's busy with another customer, wrapping up a bouquet of fresh tulips. It's a warm day, the first time the sun's _really_ been out this year, and everyone's in the mood for flowers.

     Except for Vriska. Both doors are thrown open, slamming into the walls beside them. An empty terracotta pot on a low shelf rattles against the wood, and the bell above the door chimes apologetically, belatedly. There she stands with her arms held out wide, looking as if she's been chased through the streets. Or otherwise as if she's risked her neck getting something to them, and they all need to pay attention to her right now, no questions asked.

     “I need a plant that says _I'm sorry for throwing a shoe through your window, but not really, because you're kind of a bitch, but I need your stupid hacker boyfriend to stop fucking with my computer system_ ,” she announces, ignoring the line of customers before her.

     Kanaya ties a ribbon around the bouquet she was working on and tucks a business card into it, _What Pumpkin Florist_ , hands the man his change, and says, “Let me show you our cactus selection.”)

     When Vriska decides she's had enough of kissing, which takes no less than half an hour, during which time she becomes substantially more focused on the task at hand, she rolls onto her back, stretching out a little more. Kanaya doesn't waste the opportunity to look at her, now that they're no longer pressed up together, and her face feels red and warm every time Vriska arches her back.

     Vriska sits up, suddenly, and says, “Where the hell are my glasses?” She brings a hand up to her face, patting around the bridge of her nose, just in case she's already got them on, and then glances around the room, squinting. Kanaya forces herself to sit up, confirms that she isn't, in fact, bound to the mattress, and reaches down the side of the bed, first two fingers swinging back and forth, searching out Vriska's glasses.

     In retrospect, the floor wasn't the best place to put them, but Vriska had been on top of her and her bedside cabinet was on the other side of the bed, and she hadn't wanted them to break. She opens the arms out, can't resist wiping the lenses on the bed covers, and hands them out to Vriska. 

     “Jesus, stop fussing! They were completely fine the way they were,” Vriska snaps as she snatches the glasses out of Kanaya's hand, but when she puts them on, she mouths _oh_ without meaning to, as if to say, _that's much better._

     “Are you planning on going somewhere?” Kanaya asks when Vriska gets to her feet, shifting her weight from one foot to another. Kanaya stares rather pointedly at her chest and stomach and lower, and Vriska snaps her fingers, breaking her line of vision, points up to her face and says, “Up here,” though Kanaya can tell she doesn't mind the staring. The opposite, if anything.

     Vriska grabs the corner of the cover closest to her, and then Kanaya's just as naked as Vriska is, until she starts bundling it around her waist. “There! Happy now, Fussyface? Anyone would think you didn't appreciate the view!” Vriska puts her hands on her hips, nearly loses the cover in the process, and Kanaya cringes at how terrible a job Vriska's done of tucking it in tightly enough to stay in place.

     Kanaya tries her hardest not to be self-conscious, now that she's completely exposed and there's no friction between them to distract her from that fact, and it isn't difficult; Vriska has this sort of shameless energy about her, and it's oddly infectious.

     “Come here,” Kanaya says, sighing, trying to decide whether Vriska is impossible or endearing, and settles on _hopeless_. 

     Vriska does as she's told after mentally debating it over, narrows her eyes stubbornly in the process, but she's before Kanaya quickly enough, bed sheet clutched in a fist. It barely even covers her left thigh, and Kanaya tugs it away, suddenly all-business. She doesn't even let her eyes wander. She smooths the fabric out on her lap, folds it in half, and winds it tightly around Vriska's waist, tucking one corner of the sheet in on itself so that it won't fall away, even without being held in place.

     “Much better,” Kanaya says as Vriska takes a step back, toes curling in the carpet as she looks down to admire herself. “You should wear skirts more often.”

     Vriska opts to misinterpret the compliment as meddling, huffs, but doesn't mind it too much. Of _course_ she'd look great in a skirt. She's Vriska Serket, she'd look great in anything, worn-out plaid and jeans two sizes too big for her included! Or so Kanaya assumes she's thinking as she rocks on the balls of her feet, rubbing her chin with one hand.

     “You're into fashion and all that bullshit, right?” Vriska asks, and when Kanaya only nods in reply, she looks a little disappointed. Like she expected to be praised for remembering apparently trivial details. But she recovers quickly enough, strides the length of the bedroom, and does the most ridiculous twirl just before reaching the door. Her eyebrows point at odd angles, she does her best to look serious, and Kanaya very much wants to rush across the room, hold her up against the door, and press her lips to the parts of her throat she's already marked.

     But before she can move, Vriska's already darted towards a dresser, top drawer yanked open. “So I bet you have loads of clothes, riiiiiiiight?” she asks, and Kanaya's fairly certain her face has turned pale, because her drawers are all very neatly ordered, by clothing type, colour and practicality, and what Vriska is now doing can at best be described as _rifling_. “What the hell, do you have a different set of underwear for every day of the month and every mood you're in?”

     Kanaya tries her best to salvage the remains of her neatly-ordered drawer, she really does, but Vriska holds out a hand, stopping her in her tracks, and says, “Calm your tits. I'm finding you something to wear! You should be grateful, because I never spend this long picking out my own clothing.”

     “Evidently,” Kanaya says, and Vriska pretends not to hear it. But she keeps on going through her collection, probably rummaging all the more because she knows it stresses Kanaya out, until she finds a dark blue pair of underwear to her liking. The lace is almost like a spider web, she says, and then hooks them on a thumb, pulling them back to _ping_ right at Kanaya's face.

     “Hurry up and get dressed! I want breakfast.” Vriska's stomach rumbles to help emphasise her point.

     She can be quite demanding, once she knows she's wanted.

     (Grey clouds roll over the next day, the flowers seem comparatively less cheerful than they did with a boost of sunshine, and business is slow. It's the usual custom drifting in and out: birthdays, anniversaries, apologies. Nothing spontaneous. Jade's out in the nursery, putting down a new compost blend she's designed that's apparently going to give the flowers a kick-start in life, and when the phone rings, Kanaya has nothing better to do than answer it immediately.

     “Good afternoon, _What Pum_ —”

     “It didn't work! Your goddamn, no-good plant didn't work,” a voice cuts in from the other end of the line, angry static causing Kanaya to have to hold the phone away from her ear.

     “Oh dear,” she murmurs, quickly searching for a pencil and a piece of scrap paper to scribble down the nature of the complaint on. This happens a lot; people who resort to flowers to say _sorry_ aren't particularly fond of taking responsibility for their actions, and when a bouquet doesn't make up for what they've done, they blame the florist. “May I take your name?”

     “Who gives a shit what my name is! This retarded thing is _broken_ , I swear. Can I get a refund?”

     Something else she hears far too often. Flowers don't get people what they want, and they expect their money back, as if there was a promise of magic bundled in with the petals. More often than not, they've been left on the kitchen counter over night, dried out and flattened, and it's amazing how many men in business suits will try convincing her that _they'll sell! Come on, just look at them, put them in a vase and they'll be fine._

     “I'm afraid our policy on re—”

     She's cut off again. Kanaya scowls, drops the phone down so that it's pinned between her shoulder and ear, and drums her fingers against the edge of the counter. She knows exactly who she's talking to, it's that blonde girl who grudgingly shelled out ten quid for a cactus. Kanaya couldn't forget an attitude like that. Or the eye patch, either.

     When she's done ranting until she must be blue in the face, she says, “You know what? My goddamn name is Vriska Serket, and I'm coming down to show you this faulty crap you've sold me. This is robbery. _Theft!_ ”

     She hangs up at the appropriately dramatic moment, and Kanaya supposes that this will at least make the day a little more interesting.

     Vriska arrives twenty minutes later, long before Kanaya was expecting her, and catches her in the middle of reapplying her lipstick. Saying nothing, Vriska scowls, holds out the cactus, and Kanaya screws her lipstick lid back on, nodding slowly.

     “Congratulations. You succeeded in killing a cactus within a span of twenty-four hours.”)

     Vriska wants pancakes, because Kanaya's all out of bacon. Or waffles. Or maybe both, because she's _reeeeeeeeally_ goddamn hungry, Kanaya, you have no idea! Kanaya assures her that she does have some idea, as she's rather famished herself, and gets to work on a stack of pancakes, deciding that she might as well put that chocolate sauce she bought months ago to good use in Vriska's hands. After a moment, she feels compelled to point out that she doesn't usually cook in nothing more than her underwear.

     Sat on the counter, Vriska kicks out her legs, and says that she's not complaining. As soon as Kanaya pours the pancake mixture into the pan, the impatience that Vriska's always brimmed with comes into play, and she hops down onto her feet, pressing herself up against Kanaya's back.

     Kanaya sucks in a breath as Vriska's hands skim across her stomach, and then tightens her grip on the spatula when Vriska wastes no time in taking hold of her breasts. Her eyes flutter close as Vriska works her hand, teeth scraping against her earlobe, and the sizzling of the pancake mix is the only thing keeping her focused.

     Kanaya's about to say _not now_ , because this is terrible timing, but before her lips part, Vriska's murmuring, “Want to fuck on the table?” in her ear.

     Kanaya awards herself points for remembering to turn the stove off, and quickly learns that what Vriska actually meant to say was _Want to fuck_ me _on the table?_ , because within a matter of minutes, Kanaya's sat down, Vriska on the table in front of her, ankles up on the back of the chair.

     (A few lunch breaks later, Kanaya ends up down at the local sandwich shop. Last night, she found herself tangled in the pages of her newest novel, and decided that she'd neglect to make lunch in favour of squeezing in an extra twenty or thirty pages instead. As a result of her incredibly responsible, adult-like behaviour, she's now forced to choose between the lunch time rush leftovers, ham and cheese or cheddar salad.

     “Buying that with the money you cheated me out of?” comes a voice from behind her, and Kanaya starts, instinctively pulling her hand back from the ham sandwich she'd unenthusiastically settled on. 

     She turns on her heels, finds Vriska standing far too close to her, but there's some relief to be found in the fact that she's actually smiling. Well, it's either relief or cool terror trickling down her spine, anyway. Vriska's got her hands in her pockets, bright red Converse with scuffed toes clashing horribly with the lime-green shirt she's sporting, and though Kanaya knows it's rude to gape, aghast, she can't help herself.

     “Oh, undoubtedly. There is little better I can think to squander your hard-earned money on than a sub-par sandwich collection that, frankly, looks as if it was made on stale bread.” Kanaya doesn't particularly care if the woman working the shop floor hears her. “Do you work around here, Vriska?”

     Vriska jerks a thumb over her shoulder, vaguely pointing towards the street in a non-committal direction. “My office relocated here last week. It's just my luck that all the restaurants and cafés on this street are completely shitty!”

     “Actually, there's a bakery off a side road that I've found to be consistently pleasant,” Kanaya finds herself saying. “I wasn't going to make the trip alone, but if you'd like to purchase something more to your apparent high standards...” 

     “Nah! I'm already like eight minutes late for work. I was on my way back, but then I saw you and couldn't resist making your day a little better.”

     “How considerate of you,” Kanaya says, trying not to smile, “To take time out of your busy schedule and accuse me of petty theft.”

     “Yeah, yeah,” Vriska says, waving a hand as she drifts back towards the door. “Maybe tomorrow, uh... huh! What's your name, anyway?”) 

     Hungrier than ever, Vriska takes the plate of pancakes, along with bottles of chocolate sauce and syrup, into the bedroom, and hurries back to the kitchen to retrieve the whole jug of water and two glasses. She clearly has no intention of leaving the bed any time soon, and Kanaya can't say she objects, even if Vriska doesn't bother to ask whether it's okay to inevitably get crumbs in the bed. 

     After the table incident, Vriska doesn't bother putting her bed sheet-skirt back on, and so Kanaya scoops it up. But she doesn't drape it across Vriska's lap when she gets back to the bedroom, and instead folds it neatly at the foot of the bed, and seats herself next to Vriska. Vriska scoots closer, nestles up against her, and places the pancakes against both their laps, spearing a forkful for Kanaya.

     There's too much chocolate sauce on it for Kanaya's liking, and Vriska's half-hearted accuracy with the fork leads to a good deal of it being smeared against the corner of her mouth. On purpose, most likely, because she then leans over to lick it all away.

     “Stop hoarding all the chocolate!” she says, words lost to the chewing of far too much pancake.

     (Vriska turns up at the florist the next day. Having thought Vriska would forget about their plans that were far from set in stone, Kanaya's brought in a home-made lunch, which is luckily out of sight when she tells Vriska that she'd be happy to show her where the elusive bakery of supposedly high standards is. Kanaya briefly wonders what sort of office Vriska works at that allows her to wear a tank top proclaiming “TITS” in ten-inch tall lettering, but supposes that the whole purpose of it is to provoke questions regarding its suitability for any faction of everyday life. 

     So Kanaya simply shakes her head sadly to herself, wishes that Vriska would let her pick out her outfits of a morning (as she wishes of so many people she meets), and tells Jade she's taking her lunch break. Jade pokes her head into the shop, dirt smeared across the bridge of her nose, and gives Kanaya a hearty thumbs-up. 

     To her relief, Vriska says no more about the cactus incident, because as it turns out, Aradia, the friend with the comically shoe-shaped hole in her window, or so Kanaya imagines from Vriska's description, has decided to forgive Vriska. All it took was a little money changing hands, enough to replace the pane of glass, and they were back on friendly terms once more, with just a dash of hostility thrown in.

     They have freshly-baked rolls sliced open for them, crammed full of their choice of filling, and they eat and talk and walk all at once, strolling along the riverbank. Kanaya isn't really sure what she's doing out there, or what Vriska's intentions are beyond apparently shoving her food into her mouth as if they're in the middle of a famine and someone's going to tackle her to the ground for even the last few crumbs, but she's always had a soft spot for people who are a little rough around the edges.

     “Where do you work?” Kanaya asks. She meant to ask earlier, but there hasn't been a break in the conversation until now. 

     “Computer games company,” Vriska replies, licking a smudge of ketchup from her thumb. She's obviously proud of what she does, and tells Kanaya all about _Forsaken Legends Arise_ , an MMO she's been working on for the last few years. Everyone calls it FLARP for short, apparently, and they're just putting together a trailer for the long awaited expansion pack. Kanaya's not entirely sure what Vriska does, but she tells her all about the lore and the character design, and this race they're thinking of putting into the upcoming expansion. Trolls, she calls them, and starts rambling about orange horns and blood colours, and Kanaya doesn't need to understand all of what she's talking about to enjoy listening to her speak.

     Vriska points out, for the record, that the expansion pack is going to be called _The Iron Treaties_ , gesturing vaguely towards her shirt.

     “Thank you for lunch,” Kanaya says, when Vriska walks her back to the florist. Vriska had insisted on paying for their rolls, and drinks too, because she didn't want Kanaya thinking she was _poor_ or something, after bitching about the ten quid she'd squandered on the cactus. All things considered, that hadn't turned out too badly. Kanaya had smiled when she said that, and not known what to say in reply, certain that she'd ruin the moment. If it was a moment to begin with. “And for accompanying me back. The streets are particularly perilous at half one on a Wednesday afternoon.”

     “Pfffffffft!” Vriska scrunches up her face, hands shoved back in her pockets, and lingers on the spot for a few seconds longer than she needs to. “You are totally, totally welcome for my fantastic company, Maryam.”

     She then says that she got her surname from the business card she belatedly remembered to glance at, and hey, why didn't Kanaya give her a number that wasn't hooked up to her work phone?)

     When Kanaya first met Vriska, she'd wanted to brush her hair. When she'd got used to the perpetual birds' nest atop Vriska's hair, she'd wanted to make her meals and take her out for lunch, because she was just so _scrawny_ that Kanaya was terrified the wind might snap her in two. Once she'd seen just how much food Vriska inhaled on a regular basis, she moved her meddling towards wanting to dress her better; and that had quickly been sublimated by the urge to undress her.

     Now, with their breakfast things stacked neatly in a pile on the floor, Kanaya lies with her chin rested against Vriska's stomach, looking up at her, and doesn't want to do anything beyond staying exactly where she is. She bows her head to kiss her stomach, occasionally, and Vriska runs her fingers through her short hair, tracing the shape of her ears.

     “We should shower,” Vriska says, running her teeth over her lower lip, making her intentions clear enough. 

     Kanaya stretches out an arm, fingers grazing against Vriska's cheek, and says, “How did you get this?” when her thumb swipes across Vriska's eye patch.

     She tenses, momentarily, but doesn't bat her hand away, and with a faltering smile, says, “That's third date material!”

     “There's going to be a third date?” Kanaya asks, pulling herself up, so that she's hovering over Vriska. Unlike Vriska, she has no problems where unkempt hair comes into the picture, and can hold her down without any distractions that are frustrating in the wrong sort way. 

     “Hell yeah,” Vriska says, retaliating against Kanaya's hold on her wrists by wrapping her legs around her waist, “Just as soon as we get the first two out of the way! Bet you didn't think I'd see right through your _Hey, Vriska, want to come over for a drink after work?_ , did you? Man, what a terrible ruse!”

     There's an unopened wine bottle on the kitchen counter, along with two glasses that haven't been touched. After half a dozen lunch breaks spent together and a few instances of Vriska deciding to just drop by when she was done for the day, Kanaya was hoping that a little alcohol might inspire some honesty with regards to what was unfolding between them; but as it turned out, it hadn't taken much more than stepping through her front door with Vriska to get to the heart of things.

     “Regardless, I don't think things turned out too terribly,” Kanaya says with a smile, bowing her head to kiss the tip of Vriska's nose.


End file.
